Looks like his brother is awake, kind of. Kinda' sounds like he wishes he weren't.
Good, Stanley thinks vaguely, swallowing and blinking up at the ceiling. It makes time go by faster, pretending you're trying to sleep. The blanket pulls underneath his back as Ford starts to shift around and Stanley takes a second to breathe, pull himself all together.
"Get a move on, lazybones," Stanley says, and thinks of high school, briefly. He hadn't been in any of the school plays but he'd snuck into their practice sometimes just to be there, because the kids in drama class were cool. Well, not cool, but none of 'em gave a shit, which everyone knows is pretty much the same thing. Stanley thinks, briefly, of what it'd sounded like whenever someone new came in for the rehearsals. They had the script right there so they always said all the right things, but there was none of the... Something. None of the something behind it. Oomph, he guesses. All the words were right, but none of the new kids ever had any clue what those words were supposed to mean, and none of them cared.
Stanley is saying, he thinks, all the right words. Fuckin' good enough.
"Up and at 'em," he continues to the ceiling, and sends out an elbow to nudge at the Ford shaped lump somewhere off to his side. "The sooner you get your ass movin' the sooner I get to find out if you got any coffee. If the answer's no I'll be givin' that fat head a' yours a whole new set of scars."
Stanley makes a point and a habit out of never regretting anything that's come out of his mouth. He tracks a crack over its familiar path up the ceiling to where it runs into a wall, and wonders whether to break that habit, now. Maybe. Probably. Probably it'd be okay, just a little.
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Good, Stanley thinks vaguely, swallowing and blinking up at the ceiling. It makes time go by faster, pretending you're trying to sleep. The blanket pulls underneath his back as Ford starts to shift around and Stanley takes a second to breathe, pull himself all together.
"Get a move on, lazybones," Stanley says, and thinks of high school, briefly. He hadn't been in any of the school plays but he'd snuck into their practice sometimes just to be there, because the kids in drama class were cool. Well, not cool, but none of 'em gave a shit, which everyone knows is pretty much the same thing. Stanley thinks, briefly, of what it'd sounded like whenever someone new came in for the rehearsals. They had the script right there so they always said all the right things, but there was none of the... Something. None of the something behind it. Oomph, he guesses. All the words were right, but none of the new kids ever had any clue what those words were supposed to mean, and none of them cared.
Stanley is saying, he thinks, all the right words. Fuckin' good enough.
"Up and at 'em," he continues to the ceiling, and sends out an elbow to nudge at the Ford shaped lump somewhere off to his side. "The sooner you get your ass movin' the sooner I get to find out if you got any coffee. If the answer's no I'll be givin' that fat head a' yours a whole new set of scars."
Stanley makes a point and a habit out of never regretting anything that's come out of his mouth. He tracks a crack over its familiar path up the ceiling to where it runs into a wall, and wonders whether to break that habit, now. Maybe. Probably. Probably it'd be okay, just a little.